


Liquid Sunshine

by thylekshran



Series: warm them when the chill is bitterest [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, look i don't know why i'm writing this either but just take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-07 06:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14075229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thylekshran/pseuds/thylekshran
Summary: After Shran and Trip's heart to heart over their lost siblings during Proving Ground, Shran comes to apologize for his insensitivity. It's awful polite, and Shran's awful cute too, so Trip invites him in for a drink and realizes he kinda likes him.





	1. Don't Throw The Baby Out With The Bathwater

**Author's Note:**

> charlestuckeriii (on tumblr) and I started chatting about Shran and Trip as a potential ship and I have literally no self control at all, so here we are, even though I'm primarily a Shran/Archer shipper.
> 
> Then again, Shran also dated Phlox at some point during the lost season 5 and I'm sure of that, so I suppose this is just par for the course of Shran catching feelings for every man who glances at him because he's convinced he's unlovable

Of all the people to show up at his door at 2300 hours, Shran is the one Trip least expected to find loitering nervously in the hallway when he answered the door chime.

“Commander,” Trip says, “everything ok? You didn’t come to take back that antimatter injector, did ya?”

He’s not sure what that particular twist of the antennae means, but he’s pretty intuitive about body language in general, and the slight hunch in Shran’s shoulders is clearly discomfort.

“No! No. The injector is all yours, Commander Tucker. I came to apologize for my… insensitive comments earlier.” He shifts his weight to his other foot and grimaces, not quite managing a smile. “I’m still struggling with my understanding of human culture. It was wrong of me to project Andorian values onto the situation with your sister.”

“Hey man, don’t worry about it.” It’s probably not appropriate to stop calling Shran by his title, but the poor guy looks so miserable Trip falls naturally into an unprofessional concern. “You wanna come in? I was just gonna have a little whiskey, plenty to go around.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please, Commander, you like drinking alone? Always better with company.”

Shran does manage a smile this time. “Then I thank you for the invitation.”

Trip pours two drinks and offers one to Shran, who takes it gladly. He looks like he’s going to down it but stops when Trip just takes a sip and awkwardly mirrors him.

“Don’t worry about earlier,” Trip says. “We all got our own ways of dealing.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I was ever encouraged to deal with my problems,” Shran chuckles to himself bleakly. “We put my brother’s name on the Wall of Heroes and venerated him, and I was expected to go out and seek vengeance in his honor.” He looks wryly at Trip. “There’s no real emotion in that. Not like I saw in your eyes when I mentioned your sister.”

Trip nods, not sure how to address the sudden openness from the gruff alien.

Then the most surprising thing of the night so far happens. Shran reaches across the table and touches the back of Trip’s hand. He’s warm and more gentle than Trip thought possible from him and when he speaks again his voice is soft and earnest.

“I’m sorry, Commander Tucker.”

“Uh, yeah, like I said. No big deal.” Trip knows he sounds like an idiot but he feels like that time Phlox sicced one of his weird animals on him after an away mission and his whole body went numb. He takes another drink.

“You humans,” Shran says. “I’ve never met a species so willing to forgive.” He shakes his head. “I appreciate both the drink and your understanding.”

“It was awful nice of you to tell me about your brother, too.”

Shran finishes off his whiskey and lets go of Trip’s hand. Trip misses the contact immediately. “I wanted you to know that I sympathize.” Turning his head, he gazes out at the stars, antennae bowing toward them. “The universe is a frightening place.”

“But it sure is exciting.”

Shran laughs and casts his gaze to the floor. “Yes, it is.”

“Hell, for every Xindi that wants me dead, there’s bound to be an alien that would wanna be my friend. Don’t wanna toss the baby out with the bathwater.”

Shran looks confused by the idiom, but raises his head and eyes Trip anyway. “Undoubtedly.”

“You trying to be my friend, Commander?”

“I was under the impression we already were, unless you usually make a habit of drinking with your enemies.”

“No, I suppose there ain’t much sense in that.”

Shran’s face doesn’t give anything away. He simply holds eye contact with Trip while his antennae do semaphore on his head.

“You want another? Or do you need to be heading out?”

“I think I can stay a little while.”

Something in the way he says it makes Trip wish he’d stay longer than that.


	2. Running Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A movie, a drink, an annoyed Vulcan, and an exasperated Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during the Lost Season 5 and therefore ditches TATV canon because Shran is serving on Enterprise, as was proposed before ENT got cancelled. I like to pretend they gave Jeff the leading role he deserved instead of making his character an accused jewel thief for some reason.
> 
> Also, side note, despite the fact that Jeffrey Combs and Scott Bakula are the same age I've decided for totally selfish reasons (i.e. it lets me project certain trauma feelings onto him easier, see "the universe is boundless" for more on that) that Shran was about 36 in Earth years when ENT started to Archer's 39 and Trip's 30 so he's not dramatically older than Trip.

“What’s this called, again?” Shran asks quietly, leaning in closer to Trip so he’ll be able to hear him over the movie. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees T’Pol give him a cold stare from the row behind them. He ignores her.

“Frankenstein,” Trip whispers back. “It’s based on a book, and it’s real old. Earth classic.”

Shran nods and settles back in his seat. He’s thankful to Trip for inviting him to movie night; joining a primarily human crew has been a difficult transition for him, and the good Doctor can't spend every waking moment keeping him company. Being a part of a shipwide social event might help him relax, at least insomuch as he can relax at all.

Though he does wish they were watching a comedy or something. It’s embarrassing, but for all his military training, Shran has never liked entertainment meant to scare. Perhaps because of his military training. There's enough to be scared of in the real world.

As the film plays itself out, Shran inches toward Trip without realizing it, his body seeking the comfort of a grounding shoulder against his own. It’s been two years since they had whiskey together in the Delphic Expanse, but Shran remembers how safe he felt sharing things he hadn't told anyone before, and he trusts the kindhearted engineer as much as his captain.

When he finally does touch his side, they both start and sit up straighter, breaking the contact. Shran mumbles an apology (he ends up apologizing a lot to him, it seems) but Trip just smiles and puts his arm across the back of Shran’s chair.

“It’s alright, Commander,” he says lowly in Shran’s ear. “No shame in being scared. I ain't gonna tell anybody.” His grin is playful, so Shran’s only protest is a light swat at his shoulder.

“If you two are quite done,” T’Pol says coldly. Shran waves dismissively and turns back to the movie.

Trip’s hand brushes his bicep as he shakes with silent laughter. Shran watches the light of the screen play on his face and is struck once again with how much emotion is right there to see.

Maybe it’s just to spite T’Pol, but he leans in one more time. “Can I offer you some Andorian Ale after we’re through here?”

“I think I’d like that.”

He slides his arm down from the chair onto Shran’s shoulders. T’Pol clicks her tongue, and Shran smiles.

Several hours, a movie, and three drinks with Captain Archer later, Trip offers to walk Shran back to his quarters.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Ya won’t find anyone with manners better’n a Southerner,” Trip says, blocking the sliding door to let Shran through first.

Archer rolls his eyes. “You’re both on Alpha shift tomorrow, go get some sleep. That’s an order.”

“Yessir!” Trip throws a lazy salute, and Archer practically pushes him out the door. Shran and Trip go giggling down the hallway.

At some point, Trip can’t quite remember when, they started leaning on each other as they walked. When they reach Shran’s room, he finally notices the heat of the Andorian’s hand (they’re always hot, part of being from a cold planet one would guess) on his right hip, the arm around his waist.

Shran inputs his code and the door slides open. Trip feels something in the air between them, and suspects Shran does too because his antennae lean forward expectantly. He likes that even when Shran’s face is unreadable, his antennae can’t sit still. He wants to learn what all the motions mean. He thinks Shran is mighty handsome, and he doesn’t know what to do with that thought.

“Well, uh, it’s been real fun. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course, Commander Tucker, and thank you for accompanying me to movie night.”

“You can just call me Trip. I figure y’all were pretty strict on titles in the Guard, but I don’t go in for all that formality.”

Shran squints at him and he has to resist squirming under whatever scrutiny he’s being subjected to. “Trip it is.”

The silence holds too long and Trip’s afraid his brain will betray him and tell Shran just how much he enjoyed their time together. “Night, then.”

“Goodnight, Trip.”

The door shuts, and he’s left to question his emotions alone in the dim hallway.


	3. My Lips Are Sealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Phlox to the rescue.

Standing near the bridge turbolift waiting for the senior staff meeting to start, Trip watches Shran lean on the arm of Archer’s command chair as he chats casually with the captain about something he can't quite hear. Jealousy bubbles up from his throat and nearly chokes him. He can't very well deny how strong his interest has grown anymore, though he’s been trying his best to. Two weeks of feeling his heart pound at the sight of a blue hand or antennae turning toward him and Trip’s sure it’ll burst from the pressure the next time they're alone in a room.

“Are you unwell, Commander Tucker?” Phlox chirps at his side. Trip didn't see him come in and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Not at all, Doc. Doing just fine.” That would have been more convincing if his voice wasn't high and anxious, but he covers his tracks with a sly thumb jabbed toward Archer and Shran. “Just looking for some new gossip to spread around the mess.”

Phlox looks quizzically in their direction. “Commander Shran and the Captain?”

“Look at ‘em,” Trip says, pressing the bitterness into his chest and holding it down. “Now, I don't know about Denobula, but where I come from that’s called flirting.”

“Commander Shran regularly drops into sickbay to discuss with me the challenges of living on a human vessel and has never once mentioned a romantic interlude with Captain Archer,” Phlox says, and though his tone is neutral and informative Trip knows there's an implication in the statement. The blush creeping up his cheeks robs him of deniability.

“Don't go telling no one,” Trip mumbles. “Malcom’ll never let me live it down.”

“Never fear, Commander Tucker - doctor-patient confidentiality is very important to me. What is it you humans say? Ah yes, my lips are sealed.”

Anxiety aside, Trip knows Phlox isn't a liar, and nods curtly. “Thanks.”

Phlox gives Trip his usual cryptic smile, and says nothing more.

\--

By the Throne of Uzaveh, is Shran tired. It's not unusual; Andorians’ fast metabolisms mean they burn out fast and Shran’s persistent anxiety burns him out even faster, but he hasn't slept so poorly since P’Jem, and he doesn't know why. He enjoys his new position and feels free, for the first time in his life, to socialize without the pressures of Andorian cultural norms. Nobody here is judging him for being unbonded so old or sticking to strict military protocols in conversation.

Yet more nights than not he’s awake until 0300 hours, idly reading up on Earth history or geography, unable to stop the grinding in his head as thought after thought interrupts his efforts to rest. And when he does eventually drift off, he has nightmares of death and destruction aboard Enterprise that make him wish he’d stayed awake.

He’s fed up. Something is wrong with him physically, he’s sure of it, and tonight is the night he’s going to find out what.

Phlox is feeding one of his creatures when Shran comes in. He can never quite remember what any of them are called besides the bat, which is much too similar to a winged mammal of Andoria that terrified him as a child. Not that he would admit it. After a quick glance to its cage to ensure it’s locked away he makes his presence known.

“Doctor.”

“Commander!” Phlox looks up from his task and, when he sees Shran is uninjured, is genuinely delighted to see him. “So nice of you to stop by! I get so little company in the early hours.”

Shran nods, feeling slightly bad that he isn't here for just a friendly visit. He likes the Denobulan. He’s insightful and kind and always willing to lend an ear to his troubles.

“I was hoping you might know how to cure insomnia,” Shran says.

“That depends on what’s causing it! What are your other symptoms? Abnormal fatigue? Fever?”

He thinks on it. “My heart races intermittently and my attention span has been shorter than usual, but I believe those are caused by my sleeplessness rather than the other way around.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Phlox says, and gestures that he should lie on an examination table. Shran does as he’s told. He argued with his own CMO on the Kumari one too many times and learned his lesson about defying medical professionals.

Scanners are loathesome, in Shran’s opinion. The beeping is always too loud and his antennae pick up and fixate on whatever they put in the air to read his biosigns, which triggers his anxiety as well as the Andorian fight reflex. He spends most of his time in medbays in a dissociative state to avoid the discomfort.

This time, however, Phlox seems eager to engage him in conversation while scanning him, and Shran has to grit his teeth and bear it.

“How have you been since our last talk? I saw you spending time with Commander Tucker at our last movie night, I was glad to see you’ve found a friend among the human crew.”

At the mention of Trip’s name all the exhaustion in his limbs drains away like Phlox had shot him with adrenalin. To his embarrassment, the scanner goes wild.

He could die on the spot.

“Trip- Commander Tucker,” he corrects himself, “has been more willing than others to show patience with my slow adaptation.” He doesn't like the way Phlox looks at him, like he knows his secrets. “I suspect Archer discussed with him the importance of integrating me into the senior staff and assumed he would be easier to convince than Commander T’Pol.”

“Have you considered that, perhaps, Commander Tucker enjoys spending time with you? He does have a life outside of his work. Though I admit you wouldn't know it given his choice in conversational topics,” Phlox laughs.

“Of- of course he does,” Shran stutters. “But we are colleagues first. This is a professional environment.” Even as he says it he realizes that’s not how he feels at all. Fuck. He straightens up and holds his head high in defensive pride.

Phlox, damn him, just smiles. “May I ask what thoughts come to you when you try to sleep? They can be quite enlightening.”

“Nothing in particular,” Shran says, and again instantly knows he’s lying without meaning to.

He thinks of work, of all that he owes Archer, of fear. But he also thinks of Trip. He remembers the way Trip’s cool hand felt under his while they drank whiskey, how safe and welcome he felt with Trip’s arm around him, the charming way that he laughs, the sound washing over him like liquid sunshine.

Cursing his stupidity under his breath, he lets himself acknowledge the feelings that come with those memories for the first time.

“I do believe you’ve solved your own troubles, Commander.”

Shran hums affirmation. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Thank me by taking better care of your emotional health. And getting some sleep!”

Sleep can wait a little while longer.


	4. The Color of Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not necessarily love just yet, but who knows. Their mission is long from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbearably cheesy.

When Trip answers his door at 0200 hours, it’s no less of a surprise than last time to see Shran waiting for him. They could have known each other for years and it still would have sent a bolt of lightning through his ungrounded soul, the way the Andorian’s been making him feel lately. Christ.

Shran speaks before he can get his thoughts together. “Trip, may I come in?” He glances around the quiet corridor. “I need to talk to you, and I’d prefer the privacy of quarters to the hallway.”

“Of course, Commander, please.”

“If I’m going to call you Trip,” he grumbles as he passes him, “you should call me Shran.”

“Sorry, Shran,” Trip says sheepishly. “You just give off that Commander sorta vibe, y’know?”

“Years of training,” he replies. “The Imperial Guard demands much of its soldiers. You learn to be… distant from yourself by default. To save time.” He looks mournful as he takes the same seat he did two years ago at Trip’s table. “I believe it was an Earth author who said ‘all the world’s a stage.’ The role we play in the Guard can be hard to shake.”

Shran disappears into his own world for a moment. Trip is compelled to pour them whiskey, so he does.

He puts the glass on the table and Shran’s antennae twitch. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“I-” He picks up the glass and stares into it. Trip would swear his blue skin got just a little darker. Can Andorians blush? “I don't want to make our professional relationship complicated,” he starts.

Trip’s heart is running the Kentucky Derby. Shran knows, and he’s here to tell him to knock it off before it makes it impossible for them to work together. Lord, he should have known better than to catch feelings for another officer.

“Shran, listen, it ain’t-”

“Please, hear me out,” Shran implores. “I know you're married to your job, as it were, and I always have been too.”

This isn't going where Trip thought it would. He’s barely breathing.

“Yet I find myself… hoping to spend time with you. I think about our friendship more than is appropriate.” His paranoia kicks in and he casts his gaze to the corners of the room.

“Nobody here but me, Commander,” Trip says. He sounds breathless even to his own ears.

A brief flash of pain crosses Shran’s face. “I’m not an easy man to be close to. It’s only fair you know that before I continue.”

“Is anyone? We all got our baggage.” Shran looks like he could cry. Trip doesn't ever remember him so openly emotional, and takes that as the gesture of trust that it is.

Shran takes a long, deep drink. His hand, the one not currently directing whiskey straight into his mouth, is flat on the table. All Trip can think to do is grab it and hold it tight. So he does.

With great hesitation, Shran brings his gaze back to Trip, torn between his face and their intertwined fingers. “I expected this to be more difficult,” he says. Trip giggles a little despite himself.

“You callin’ me easy, Shran?”

He snorts derisively and Trip wants to throw himself across the table into his arms. A bit silly, but he can't help it with Shran looking so flustered and cute.

“Look, I dunno exactly what you were gonna say, but I’ve got a pretty good idea. I understand if you don't wanna pursue anything for your career’s sake, and I’m not all peaches and cream either, but I sure do like being around you.”

“Trip-”

“I mean, if you wanna, we could give it a shot anyways.”

Shran narrows his eyes, antennae going flat, but it’s not aggressive. Insecure, maybe. Trip can solve that.

He stands and walks around the table. Shran tracks him closely until they're right next to each other. Trip grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet.

“I promise,” he says, a cheeky grin creeping onto his face, “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“I can't promise you the same.”

“Oh, that's alright, now that I know you’re a big softie under all that pretending.” He confirms that Andorians can blush when Shran turns the color of twilight. Trip beams and cradles his face in his hands. “You look awful handsome like that. Mind if I give you a kiss?”

His cheeks are so hot Trip’s worried he might come away with burns, but he surges up on his toes and crushes their mouths together. That’s one way to answer the question. Trip strokes his face with his thumbs and their kiss turns languid and soft. It’s an eternity before they finally part.

“We should do that again sometime,” Trip says. Shran looks up at him, and there’s a universe in his eyes, infinite wonders to discover. Well... Trip’s always been an explorer.


End file.
